


wisteria sprigs & jaded memories

by myvoidedeyes



Series: (we are) lost boys [1]
Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: 400-500 words, Character Study, Hemlock Grove - Freeform, I'm just experiencing feels, M/M, Oneshot, Romancek, Season 02, Smoking, i guess, so I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:19:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14128953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myvoidedeyes/pseuds/myvoidedeyes
Summary: every place has it's ghosts, the lingering reek of regret. peter doesn't understand why it draws him in. he's probably just a masochist. probably.





	wisteria sprigs & jaded memories

The room smelt of cigarette smoke and pine needles, all acrid, with only the slightest hint of sweet. Ghosts seemed to sit next to him on the covered couch, far too at home in the dust-thick silence. He didn’t know how he’d ended up there, amongst the shards of glass and bittersweet memories, only that it felt like a mistake to have returned. If he hadn’t already realized how he’d tainted the place when he’d left it to rot, the message seemed to swirl around his head, mingling with the smoke, and tattooed itself across every atom of his body, surely never to be forgotten. 

There were more important things for him to be seeing to, rather than smoking in this graveyard and ruminating on all his mistakes; like a friend whose heart he’d torn, selfishly, from their chest, and left to bleed out on the floor, or the all too many lives that hung in the balance, nestled onto his shoulders by whatever cruel shithead controlled fate. Yet, even as he sucked down one last puff, practically feeling the way his lungs recoiled from the poison he drew in, and allowed the butt to find a place amongst the detritus littering the floor before he suffocated it with the heel of his boot, he found a moment’s reason to linger. Because, there, settled in the rubble of a life that was, for one brief, hazy moment, some illusion of perfect, he could taste the wistful flavour of what might have been, combining with the bitter tobacco on his tongue. And it was glorious and horrible, all in one sickening revelation. But he’d turned his back on that thing, setting his gaze forcefully to the never-ending road ahead, and pretended he hadn’t left the other half of his defiant, unnatural soul in a sickly town behind him. Pretended he couldn’t see those pale eyes glinting manically in the rearview mirror, or feel that comfortable weight pressed into his side. 

He would leave those truths to the ghosts and the dust bunnies, because he’d never find the words to bear them, and he wasn’t sure if they were wanted, or if they’d even make a difference. 

As he closed the door behind him, ineffectually barring the elements’ access, but sealing away the dead, he told himself he’d never go back there, never return to that hologram of the kinder past, except, maybe, to burn it down. Then, hopefully, it would take all the words he didn’t know how to say with it, along with all his mistakes. 

He didn’t think so, but that didn’t stop him from hoping.


End file.
